


Tell Me What the Sense Is (in Loving a Merciless Man)

by huxualorentation



Category: Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot | They Call Me Jeeg (2015)
Genre: Cannizzardo, Gypsythug, M/M, Movie Timeline, Passion and some angst, Riccabio, TW Fabio has had a dick of a father, Zingardo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26123314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huxualorentation/pseuds/huxualorentation
Summary: Riccardo loves Zingaro, hates him, wants to overthrow him, wants to protect him, hungers for him. Fabio treasures such a violent, possessive, desperate, blind adoration.
Relationships: Fabio Cannizzaro | Zingaro/Riccardo
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	Tell Me What the Sense Is (in Loving a Merciless Man)

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I refuse to watch the movie in its entirety, due to its featuring a scene where the supposed “good guy” takes the (mentally impaired) female lead against her will. But I watched the villain bits after hearing good things about the character, and I was surprised at the lack of fanfics exploring his relationship with one of his thugs, Riccardo.  
> Title is my translation of two verses from Anna Oxa’s “Un’emozione da poco” (“A Dismissable Feeling”), the Italian pop hit that Fabio sings at Nunzia’s birthday party: “Dimmi che senso ha / Dare amore a un uomo senza pietà." #bilingualbitches

After ordering his men out of the gone-MIA old sod's and his retarded bitch of a daughter’s flat, after following them, frustrated because the girl has escaped his hold but full of pride for injuring Mr Windowcrasher’s foot, Fabio goes straight to Riccardo, who is gingerly touching his mouth and nose.

“Nothing broken?”

“Nothing broken. Just a little blood from biting my own tongue, would you believe that...” Riccardo says, shaken but recovering. “I get myself cleaned up and then I’m good as new.”

“So let’s get you cleaned up.” And Fabio kisses his bloodied mouth. “Blood brothers,” he murmurs as he pulls back, his own mouth stained now. “Blood brothers.”

The other men do not do so much as bat an eye. There’s something special between those two, they all know and none of them cares, because it’s something special and not some faggoty romance. Zingaro possibly being into men, Riccardo being quite the regular in his bed, that would be a problem if they were the sort of effete faggot whom it’s no longer worth calling a male. But those two are males with a capital M: they drink, they shoot, they kill—the works. Moreover, Fabio could have been a—what do intellectualoids call that again?, a thespian, and he indeed sort of is, and thespians are notoriously weird. Fabio and Riccardo are, therefore, perfectly free to indulge in PDA. (Of course, certain things they leave for out of the others’ sight. Like that time when they were in the yard, the dogs their only company, Fabio sitting on the ground with his back against the wall and Riccardo’s head on his lap, and Riccardo had started kissing Fabio’s abdomen and Fabio had lost it and the dogs had started barking in the wake of his moans, and Riccardo had said, laughing, “I feel stared at by the dogs!”, and Fabio had smiled his most heart-stopping smile as he replied, “Well, then, enough with the innocent kisses and let’s give them something worth staring at.”)

Prior to this blood-stained kiss, Fabio has brushed Riccardo’s ear with his lips as he told him how he doesn’t want to end up like Cannizzaro Snr, the man whose beatings young Riccardo has shielded young Fabio from with his own body time and time again.

After that blood-stained kiss, Fabio stares hungrily at Riccardo’s mouth, getting distracted, getting lost in a wave of desire, as, in the abruptly halted car, he reiterates how desperately he longs for success.

And then the thing with Mr Windowcrasher and the van happens, and Fabio stares at the man out of bewilderment, not in the slightest out of desire; but trust Riccardo to follow him into his bedroom and, sturdier than him as he is, to wrestle him down on the bed and pin him down with his weight, roaring, “I’ve seen how you looked at him, damn you!”

“So what, Riccà? What if?” Oh, how Zingaro enjoys acting defiant around Riccardo when the latter is jealous; how he loves being manhandled by him.

“Madonna Santa, no one else can take you! No one else can have you!”

“Leave Nostra Signora out of this, would you, She’ll be scandalised. I’d say no problem, it will be me taking him, what about this? You know I like both taking and being taken. Mmm, to get him in the gang and in this bed too...”

Riccardo roars with rage, manhandling him violently—which Zingaro loves, but—memories are triggered— _I_ _have not begot a son for him to become a fucking showman! I’ll beat these ambitions out of your head, you good-for-nothing!_

“Ssshh, ssshh, Fabio, Fabio, I’m sorry. Please, breathe. Stay with me. Look at me, Fabio. It’s me. I have inadvertedly made you think of that bastard, haven’t I? He’s dead now. You’re so brave, amore mio.”

* * *

Fabio stares at that guy Enzo’s mouth as he orders him to spill the beans: he needs the answer, he needs to know, so he stares at that piece of flesh as if to magic it into opening and letting the answer out against its owner’s will. For a moment, he lies on the bed near the bound man, because he usually likes to get comfortable while doing the hard work of interrogating and torturing, and also because who knows, perhaps being acted friendly around will help Windowcrasher see reason? (By the way: nope. It takes hurting the girl to loose Windowcrasher’s tongue, and Fabio feels sick, because hurting women is exactly the kind of thing Cannizzaro Snr would do without hesitation). Neither action is born of desire: the man is not Riccardo. In the turmoil of the interrogation, one part of Zingaro’s mind thinks of how he never was able to keep his eyes from wandering to Riccardo’s mouth, of how he loved lying next to him on the bed even if they weren’t doing anything more than just laughing and relaxing.

Thoughts of Riccardo. And, as the disfigured, once beautiful crimelord meets his fate, his last thought is for Riccardo.

_Ècchime*, Riccà._

**Author's Note:**

> * Roman form of Italian "Èccomi" = "I'm coming, I'm almost there."


End file.
